


Docked Ships

by mucasliller



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mucasliller/pseuds/mucasliller
Summary: It wasn’t until Merle met Captain Davenport, Co-Director of the Bureau of Balance, that he learned the first thing of true interest about him. Specifically, that he was fine as hell. 2-4 Update: On Hiatus. Reworking some things and focusing on rarepair week!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where Davenport's identity isn't lost to the Voidfish, and is instead pulled into the Bureau of Balance as Co-Director. 
> 
> Edit: I've decided to add on some more to this piece, so I've adjusted the title and a few things from the first bit. I'll be honest, I don't entirely know where I want to take this, but I love these old men and want to write more of them.

The Director had informed them of the Bureau’s co-founder the day they’d been inoculated. Just enough information for them to understand the chain of command within their newfound employment. He was a master illusionist, the very same who’d created the enchantment that disguised their base, who largely oversaw their collection of Seekers and the information they collected on the Grand Relics. His name was Davenport. 

It wasn’t much, but Merle wasn't particularly pressed to find out more. But more details on the Co-Director came regardless as he began to wade his way through the company grapevine. The many Seekers under the man's supervision who were all too happy to dish out the dirt around the water cooler. 

Davenport was, well, _stern_ was the most encapsulating descriptor. Stern with purpose. A no-nonsense man with about thimble’s worth of patience for imperfection. The Bureau couldn't afford to house employees who worked for anything less than perfection, and the gnome was quick to sniff and vocationally snuff those people out. Above all else he valued hard work and dedication, just as impassioned as his Co-Director in recovering the artifacts. Ultimately a fair supervisor, so long as they did their jobs well and owned up when they didn't. ‘Captain Davenport’ was what they called him, a moniker toted with good humor and mild exhaustion. 

Still nothing that truly mattered to Merle, whose role within the Bureau kept him exclusively underneath Lucretia’s supervision. No, it wasn’t until Merle met Captain Davenport first hand that he learned the first thing of interest about him.

Specifically, that he was _fine as hell._

Merle had attempted not to stare too long or hard as the other man approached, fingers tightening around the faded leather of his Extreme Teen Bible clutched to his chest. He attempted and failed, miserably, because the gnome was too handsome and too close not to drink in like wine.

The good kind of wine, not the cheap boxed shit he usually settled for. Expensive and tasteful. The kind he'd have served at communion. A face spattered with freckles and framed by a neatly trimmed mustache as warm and orange as the curls he kept combed to the side. Eyes blue as the ocean horizon, that held the weariness of a man well-traveled. That easily caught the stares he was doing a piss poor job at hiding.

“You must be Merle Highchurch. I’ve been away on business, but the Director had informed me of our new Reclaimers.” The ginger offered a faint smile, pulling his seafaring coat tighter around his shoulders. “I’m Davenport. Perhaps she’s informed you of me?”

Merle nodded, a little too quickly, offering the other man his friendliest smile. The smile he’d offered parishioners to the seaside temple of Pan. Warm and pleasant. _Not_ lecherous. “Of course. But it’s great to finally meet whose on top around here--” _Godsdammit._ “--I mean, it’s great to finally meet you. After, uh, hearing so much about you.” 

“Hopefully good things,” The Captain smirked, as though he truly did not care either way. Good was subjective. He wanted to be known for getting things done. And speaking of that--

“I would like to take you for dinner, Merle.” 

It was an offer made so casually Merle nearly missed it, weary green eyes blinking rapidly as the words crossed across his synapses. Warmth splotching across a face he was suddenly quite grateful to be mostly covered in beard. But if Davenport noted the redness that flushed his nose and ears he didn’t acknowledge it. 

“You’re a Reclaimer, one of the only few individuals we’ve come across who can resist the relic's thrall. That automatically makes you one of the most essential members of the Bureau of Balance. I would be doing a disservice to our organization if I did not get to know you, Merle." 

The gnome leaned closer, washing the cleric’s senses with the smell of tobacco and vanilla. A bizarre mix that worked immaculately on the Captain, that urged the dirty old dwarf to want to shove his nose in the crook of the freckled man's neck. To take him in.

 _He’s your boss you dirty old creep,_ Merle chastised internally, _Kind of your boss. Sort of. Whatever. This one’s a No-Go. Even for Merle Highchurch, lovemaking extraordinaire._

“And, if you’ll allow me to be earnest, I might have… _other_ motivations as well.” 

Merle’s eyes flung wide open, finding a curious gaze and an even wider smirk than before. Oh, well. Okay then. Perhaps he'd jumped to conclusions. Perhaps the Captain wasn’t everything the rumor mill suggested him to be. The dwarf found himself rather keen on finding out. 

“Is that so?” Merle strummed his fingers through his well trimmed beard, a few stray flower petals falling out around his feet. His own smile was already losing it's wholesome touch. “Well, Davenport, _I_ would be doing a disservice if I didn’t assist my employer with his… _needs.”_

“That’s wonderful!” The gnome beamed, hands clapping together with enthusiasm, “Do you speak Dwarvish?” 

It wasn’t the follow-up question Merle was expecting, his hopes more aligned with the other man asking, _My place or yours~?_ Still he answered with a curious, “Yes...?” 

Regardless of his hopes it was clearly the response Davenport had been hoping for. “Excellent. You see, I’ve heard wind of a relic in the northern Faerun mountains. There’s a longstanding conflict between the region’s dwarven clans, and so I’d like to investigate the lead a tad more before we send our best and brightest to the middle of a warzone. We could interview the traders in the nearby settlements.” 

“O-Oh? Well, uh, that _is_ considerate of you. Not flinging us into the middle of a battle.” Absolutely thoughtful. Merle made an effort to look grateful. It was about as successful as all his attempts to hide his emotions, a display once again missed (or just ignored) by the ginger man. A hand offered his shoulder a squeeze, warm and all too brief before the other pulled away, smoothing the wrinkles out from his well tailored coat. Back to business. 

“We’ll talk more about it later. I’ll send you a calendar invite over stone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another engagement.” Ringed fingers waved the busy man off, leaving the confused and slightly flustered cleric where he stood. “Have a good evening, Merle.”

“Y-yeah, uh, you too man! Uh, Captain!” Merle returned the wave, watching the Captain turn into a small dot on the horizon of the base. He carried himself off to the dormitories, chuckling sheepishly as he allowed his disappointment to wane. Oh well, there were other fish on the moon. But, who knew, maybe this business meeting could turn business _casual._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter @ 2BladezWithaZ


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on adding more to this, but I'm caught up on the good good Davenchurch train and have some ideas I want to explore. As such I adjusted the title. We'll see how far this goes, but for now enjoy these roommates being fuckers. Promise there'll be more old men content to come.

“He’s taking you to _dinner?”_

Curious looks were exchanged between wizard and fighter, the pair sprawled across the not entirely uncomfortable but also not fantastic couch in their new communal living room. It beat laying on the forest ground, and the adventurers had their own rooms regardless, so they weren’t about to complain. A tube of stolen pringles was tossed between them, already half devoured as they swiped fistsfuls more into their greedy maws. 

Merle couldn’t help but grin at the enviably lethargic display. He’d known these assholes all but three weeks and they already felt like family. Lazy and rather _nosy_ family, their eyes gleaming with intrigue as the dwarf parsed through his conversation with the illusionist. A meeting of _happenstance,_ he acknowledged, dropping his bible on the coffee table as he beelined for the kitchen. An attempt to hide his disappointment, as well as quell his gnawing hunger. 

“He said he wanted to get to know all of us. We’re officially the Bureau’s new bread and butter, remember? I’m sure he’ll be hitting you two up eventually.” 

“We already met him.” Magnus spoke through the mouthful of chips he’d licked off his chest like a massive reptilian, his greasy lips smiling as he stretched his legs across the couch. Feet bearing questionably cleaned socks plopped on the wizard’s lap for the dozenth time, and for the dozenth time they were promptly shoved off. 

Except this time Taako included just a hint of thunderwave, just enough to teach the human a lesson. Which seemed to work as Magnus jolted up with a pained yelp, the tube of chips flying straight into the ceiling. Taako cackled as the living room was sprayed in crisps, indifferent to the chive and sour cream rain as he plopped across the cushions like a greedy cat. “That’s what you _get,_ my dude. Better clean that shit up.”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair. You don’t have to steal the _whole thing!”_

“Uh, yeah I do, that’s the best kind of stealing,” The elf affirmed as he glanced over the back of the couch toward the dwarf, “But yeah, we ran into D-man after training today. And he sure as shit didn’t ask _us_ to dinner.” 

Merle very nearly choked, his lips clamped around the spoonful of peanut butter. He had to take a lengthy moment to stifle his cough and gather his composure. A silent prayer to Pan that his cheeks weren’t too flushed when he finally turned back around. 

“W-well. He uh, he mentioned something about a mission he wanted me to go on with him? Something about dwarves and traders and not throwing us in the middle of warzone. Don’t really remember the details. But ya know me, I’m not about to say no to a free meal.” 

“Yeah?” Taako’s lips thinned, clearly a little disappointed as he turned back toward Magnus. Just in time to catch the fighter reaching to yank his legs, earning himself yet another shock that sent him jumping several feet back. “Guess that’s better than my theory.”

The cough had mostly settled as the dwarf joined his friends in the communal space, his body unceremoniously dumped into a cushy beanbag chair across from the recliner Magnus finally surrendered in. “And what theory was that?” Merle asked, a strong effort made not to sound too curious. 

Taako just shrugged as he lazily flicked crumbs off the couch. A few purposely landed on Magnus, who’d already begun flinging chips off the ground in retaliation. “I dunno. That maybe he was just into you? Like, he’s probably around your age. I mean you are literally the oldest man in this plane of existence, so that’s a fuckin’ tall mountain to climb, but he _seems_ like he’s kinda up there--”

“Wait, what? _What!?”_ Merle dropped the wooden pipe he’d plucked from within his robe, a hand carved momento he’d possessed longer than memory could tell. Burnt flakes spilled onto the carpet as it rolled, adding to the mess his teammates were creating with their personal food fight. “You thought he… _seriously?”_

The jostling pair finally simmered down, turning to watch the aurora of emotion dance across the older man’s face. His mouth twisted around choked noises and useless fillers, spilling out a string of _ums_ and _wells_ and _hmms_ that eased into quiet hesitance. “Did he, uh... did he... _mention me...?”_

A deathly sort of silence filled the air around the three men, a tense spell that threatened to suffocate the cleric that was _usually_ hard-pressed to embarrass. At least until the wizard did him the solid of smashing said silence with a positively joyous cackle. “Oh my god, seriously? You’re serious? Oh fuck, yes, oh fuck yes _thank gods._ Come on Mags, you cough that shit up right now my man. That’s five gold.” 

“What?! No way! He didn’t say _he_ was into Davenport.” Magnus countered, “He just asked if Davenport had mentioned him.” “Yeah, cause there’s so many reasons why he’d give a shit about that. C’mon man, a bet’s a bet.” 

“... Did you two seriously make a bet on what team I play for?!”

Magnus and Taako affirmed with _yeps_ of polar disposition, the former clearly desperate not to lose his well earned dungeon loot. Merle wasn’t sure whether he cared about being the subject of an off-handed gamble, but at the moment he had a far more pressing concern regardless. “Well turns out you’re both losers, cause I play on whatever the hell team I want. Now answer my damn question!” 

“Well technically I never specified that you _just_ into dudes so I win regardless--” “No you don’t!” “--But to answer yer question no, sorry, he didn’t say anything. But hey.” The elf offered the dwarf an encouraging grin. “That doesn’t mean he’s not interested, right?” 

It was a fair point, and one that swelled the cleric’s chest with an embarrassingly rush of happiness, only to immediately feel a pulse of vibrations from the stone around his neck. As though the universe had been waiting for the invitation to send the calendar invite. Merle glanced at the illuminated screen, surprised to find the message pinned for the very next afternoon. 

_My schedule is limited, but let me know if an alternative time is preferred. I didn’t see anything on your schedule._

Well, of course he didn’t, Merle hadn’t the faintest clue how to even use that app. But anything he might have considered doing was quickly chucked out the window. “He just messaged me, actually. Looks like we’re meeting up tomorrow.” 

“Holy shit, that was fast.” From his cushy recliner Magnus let out a woof whistle, flashing the dwarf his own supportive grin (regardless of the money he’d lost). “Taako might actually be onto something. That’s awesome Merle, good for you.” 

“Yeah well, let’s not jump to conclusions, he seems like a pretty professional guy. And chain of command or not, I don’t think screwing around with an employee is considered good business practice.” 

Not that he’d know much about that, but he could appropriate assume that kind of mindset from the stern illusionist. But, still. The boys had a point. It was fast, and Merle was feeling rather hopefully. His shoulders dug deeper into the pile of beads with a deep sigh, his fingers threaded through the loose braids he’d fixed in his beard. A warm smile had begun to take his face, ridding him of the uncharacteristic sheepishness. Replacing it with a look his teammates knew reluctantly well. 

“Man I sure hope so, though. Cause I’d love to dock my ship in that port, if you know what I’m saying--”

Fistfuls of crumbs were suddenly flung in Merle’s face, landing in his hair and beard and straight into his gaping mouth. To his younger teammate’s great relief it effectively stifled whatever filth he’d intended on next, as he was now busy trying not to choke on the salty bits tossed in his gullet. 

“Yeah okay like, we’re totally happy for you and all, but we can definitely stand not to hear you be gross about it. Especially because, like you said, Davenport’s a _professional_ guy. Nasty stuff like that isn’t gonna win him over. You gotta be a _gentleman.”_

Magnus delivered his advice with an almost sage-like air, which was both hilariously out of place and marginally warranted. Out of their bunch he _was_ the one who’d enjoyed the most romantic success. By a substantial margin. “Like, you gotta be polite, you know? Take the time to get to know him. Ask him about his hobbies and stuff. What he likes to do off the clock.”

“Basically, don’t say anything you normally would,” Taako chimed in, “No nasty pickup lines or innuendos.” 

“Also you gotta _really_ listen when he’s talking. Like actively listen. And then make sure to reiterate what he says back so he _knows_ you were listening.”

“So don’t just sit there thinking about fucking him the entire time.”

“And also let him get to know you! Don’t be afraid to open up, be a little vulnerable, let him get to know the real Merle Highchurch.” 

“Except, like, a _way_ better version. Also don’t roll up smelling like weed.” 

The teammates continued their stream of advice well into the evening, whispering tips and gentle teases over their slightly above average cafeteria pot roast and instant mash. Merle took it all in stride, appreciating even the mostly warranted jokes at his expense. But he also pocketed what he deemed as sound suggestions, mentally building a list of do's and don'ts for the night to come. At some point in the conversation Magnus’ glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of something that urged him to feverly swat the cleric’s shoulder. “Dude, dude! Look, look, look!” 

Merle turned his gaze just in time to catch Davenport passing by the open doorway, discussing an upcoming policy assessment with Human Resource representative Brad Bradson. For whatever reason the ginger chose to peek into the mesh hall, allowing ocean blue to capture earthy green in a brief gaze between captain and cleric. The gnome smiled with a small wave, an entirely brief and casual gesture before he disappeared from sight. And yet it was still enough to splash the dwarf’s face with generous red, his lips curling as his teammates stifled their laughter. 

“Dude, you’ve got it so bad.” Magnus mused, his hand clapped supportively on the smaller man’s shoulder. The dwarf could only nod in agreement.

“Tomorrow can’t come fast enough, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter @ 2BladezWithaZ


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all your support with this fic! It makes me really happy to create content that other people enjoy. As I'd mentioned before, this wasn't planned as a multi-chapter piece, but I think I've established where I intend to go with it. This chapter is more set up, but fear not, the _not_ date is coming soon.

Merle was early. 

Not egregiously so, just a couple of minutes shy of the hour. _Just enough to show you’re thoughtful,_ Magnus suggested on their walk back from dinner, _Not too much, you don’t wanna look like you’re desperate. Just that you respect his time. Politeness is **super** sexy._ Hopefully, it was a gesture that would appeal to the gnome’s punctuality, as it was far beyond the typically lazy dwarf’s character. 

But some things were worth making an effort for, which had also prompted the cleric to take some consideration into his appearance. Though the bulk of the work had mostly fallen on his elven roommate and self-proclaimed master of ‘looking good while barely even trying.’ 

Because like hell were they ever going to get a night without Merle snoring up a storm in their apartment if he didn’t make a good impression. 

_We ain’t gonna get too fancy. I don’t got that kinda fuckin’ time, and you really don’t wanna try too hard on the first date,_ Taako instructed, his comb working through the slightly knotted hair without an ounce of sympathy. _You gotta keep it easy. A little breezy. **Never** sleazy… Well, maybe on the second date._

The wizard’s magic resulted in an objectively presentable Merle Highchurch. Perhaps even handsome if older dwarfs were one’s cup of tea. Taako had even enchanted a few loose braids throughout the silvery beard, which (in his expert opinion) paired wonderfully with the cleric’s stylish, easy half-up. 

Of course Merle added his own touches, such as the small sprinkling of dandelions foraged from their last trip planetside,now tucked into the loops of his braids. The robes had been his own choice as well, simple and clean and intentionally void of any telltale smells of hash. He still allowed the boys a chance to offer approval, a gesture met with an obnoxious chorus of jeers and whistles that would earn them a citation for noise violation in the coming days. 

It was good fun, even as Merle recognized that his and his roommate’s efforts could very well amount to nothing. He still appreciated it, as he appreciated the presence of the ragtag pair that had stumbled into his life. Quiet gratitude was extended to the cleric’s patron for bringing them all together in their travels. As well as quiet hope that they wouldn’t get their stupid asses killed on their next mission.

Because, well, they were certainly _fun,_ but they weren’t exactly smart. 

The invitation had included the Co-Director’s building and room number, which was thankfully just down the hall from that of the Madame Director. Because that meant Merle was less likely to get himself lost. 

He still did, though he fortunately only passed the door once, making his early departure all the smarter. And in his defense it was far smaller door than he’d anticipated, easily missed if you were looking up instead of forward. Which was ironic, given his own size. 

But that changed before he could even reach the handle, as the doorway stretched and pulled with an enchanted glow, reaching the perfect height to usher out the incredibly tall Brad Bradson. Exhaustion clung to the green eyes that fell upon the cleric with a gentle smile, large fingers wiggling in a wave as he adjusted the clipboard tucked underneath his arm. 

“Lovely to see you again, Mr. Highchurch, I hope you’ve been faring well since our onboarding. I know it’s a bit of a _unique_ process, from a human resource standpoint.” Deadly was perhaps the better descriptor, but Brad wasn’t going to be caught bad-mouthing their organization in front of the door of his employer. He gave the unusually presentable dwarf a brief scan, his brows arched in notable surprise. “You look rather nice tonight. Is there a special occasion?”

Underneath the simply curious, perfectly benign gaze of his co-worker Merle Highchurch felt as though he would combust into flames. An _attempt_ at a response fell from his lips, neither convincing nor quick, a string of small stammers that eventually fell into words. 

“It’s, uh, a business… meeting. Ya know, uh, business… stuff.”

“Uh huh. That’s nice.” Fortunately, Brad was being more polite than nosy, as he had far more important things to do than pry into an old dwarf’s affair. Colleagues to motivate. Timesheets to process. You know, his job. “Well I hope it goes well. Have a good evening!” A final wave signaled the bard’s departure around the corner, abandoning the cleric with his thoughts. 

Though Merle could only fret over those for so long, as a head of brilliant amber curls poked out from the once again shrunken door. Davenport flashed an equally brilliant smile that not only melted away the dwarf’s concern, but made him briefly forget such a feeling was possible. 

“Merle, hello, I thought I’d heard your voice! You’re perfectly on time.” A clear note of approval enveloped the gnome’s words, earning a certain carpenter a small check of approval in the dwarf’s mental book. He was ushered into the other man’s sanctuary with a friendly wave, his eyes immediately chewing over the scenery. 

“Sorry, I’d intended on having a bit of a break between meetings, but Bradson and I had a lot to discuss.” Establishing training regimes. Filling vacancies. Ensuring that recently deflected members hadn’t left any leads to their organization, such as Magic Brian. Headaches that the gnome would vent out his frustration over when not in the face of an employee. “Let me just gather my things and we’ll be on our way.” 

“Oh please, take your time! I’m happy to hang out.” 

And it was true, Merle was perfectly content to wait and take everything in, noting the tasteful but simple furnishes of dark oak and blue tapestry that stretched across the floor to low ceiling windows. It was a charming space, neither sterile or cluttered, with a scattering of nautical trinkets such as model boats and oceans charts aged yellow and preserved under glass. A cozy little office that said far more about the gnome than their first meeting had gleamed. 

And it was _unapologetically_ little, with chairs and shelves distinctly designed for races of their stature. “Must be a hassle, making everything big when you get visitors,” Merle mused as he watched the other gather documents atop his desk. 

“It is,” Davenport agreed, his eyes fixated on his task, “Which is why I don’t.”

He eventually glanced back with a smile accompanied by a small but notable twinkle of mischief. “Not for everyone, at least. I’ve some exceptions, those who need appropriate seating. But most people can stand to learn to make accommodations for others." 

The image was as hilarious as it was cruel, a Bureau employee perched awkwardly on one of the stool-sized chairs as they attempted to discuss their progress report. It was quite possibly an admission of unprofessional bias, though one that suggested an air of trust between the two men. Merle couldn’t say he hated that, as he couldn’t claim to be particularly professional. 

“Well, I suppose a Captain needs to put his crew in their place from time to time.” 

Case in point. Though he didn’t really intend for the words to come out as sly as they did, and fortunately the gnome didn’t seem to take notice either way A quick glance over the cleric’s shoulder proved it, finding the Bureau Director clearly distracted, his gaze distant as his hands hovered over his notes and pens. 

“... You okay there?”

“What?” Davenport blinked rapidly as he eased back into the present, “I mean... yes. Yes, sorry, unfortunately I do. Otherwise they won’t entirely... respect me.” The gnome’s words faded into an honestly tired sigh, a moment of honest he hadn’t planned for as as he scrambled to find a more neutral expression. 

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be discussing this. It’s fine, honest, I’m not trying to complain. And every employer has their own challenges…”

“Well yeah, I’m sure,” Merle agreed, as though he’d ever been the boss or anyone or anything, “But, uh, I think you still have the right to be pissed about it. I mean _I’d_ be...”

If respect actually meant a thing to him, the washed up cleric that he was. No, simple acknowledgement was more than good enough for him. But he knew Davenport was different, as he had every right to be. Merle kept his gaze on the walls as the gnome finished gathering his things. Green eyes followed the faded sailing routes that stretched and curved across a nautical chart that mapped the oceans south of Faerûn.

“... They’re dumbasses, though, ya know?”

His fingers found their way into his beard, nervously fussing the braids Taako would no doubt chide him for messing up. “I mean, if you gotta embarrass ‘em to earn a little recognition. People should be respected for the good they do, not by how much of a jackass they can be-- _N-not that you’re a jackass!”_

Merle suddenly shot around, dandelions falling out of his beard as he waved his hands frantically. As though he hoped the momentum would somehow unlodge his foot out of his mouth. 

“I… I just mean, uh, sometimes ya gotta... act like one, ya know? Oh Pan, that still sounds bad. I just, what I really mean is that you’re doin’ a whole lot of good here, ya know? With the relics and everything. And it’s a cryin’ shame that that’s not enough for some people...” 

Across the oak desk Davenport stood stunned and silent, his fingers clutched tight around the strap of his satchel. He had neither expected the cleric’s rant nor knew what to do with it, but eventually he settled on offering a small smile. Cautious, and a tad sad, but not for anything that the other man had said. An honest smile. 

“That’s… that is kind of you to say so, Merle. But it isn’t enough. It won’t be until we’ve collected all the Grand Relics.” 

“Well,” Merle hesitated, but steeled himself to continue on, “I’m not… I’m not sayin’ it cause it’s kind. I’m sayin’ it cause it’s true, Daven--Uhm, Captain? Uh, sir…?”

“Davenport is fine,” the gnome affirmed with a laugh, “I’m obviously not as grandiose as the Madame Director. Though if I ever hear you told her I said that, you will definitely lose first name privileges. So be mindful, Mr. Highchurch.”

 _Ooh, and then what? You’ll **spank** me?_

Ouch. Okay. It was a good thing _that_ intrusive thought never saw the light of day, because Merle could not physically withhold the wince that came with it. Fortunately Davenport was distracted once again, his eyes set on a small shelf hanging above the cleric’s head. It featured little more than a small portrait, featuring the gnome with a collection of rowdy-looking misfits posing atop a ship deck. Their backdrop the endless ocean blue. The Captain’s smile warmed as he fixated on the painting. 

“Not everyone’s been like that though. I’ve worked with some pretty great people.”

“Yeah?” Merle glanced between the man in the painting and the one that stood before him, the pieces clicking into place. “You really _were_ a Captain...”

“A while ago.” Davenport shifted his gaze back to the dwarf as he finally moved out from behind his desk. Any lingering sadness was extinguished from his faced as he gestured for the other to follow him to the door. “But let’s focus on the future tonight, not the past. We’ve got dinner and a mission to discuss, and Avi’s probably waiting for us at the canon dock.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” 

But it didn’t stop Merle from stealing one last glimpse of the painted gnome encapsulated in time. Smiling among the crowd of seafarers, his crewmates, looking so incredibly _happy._

What had happened to them, he wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter @ 2BladezWithaZ


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooly crap okay, this chapter is unreasonably long, but I wanted to get the full date out there. My next update might take a little longer! I'm heading to the Tacoma show in a couple weeks and need to work on my nerdlord costume \m/ \m/
> 
>  **side note:** Please don't punch sharks. That's cruel and not going to safe your life. Merle is a dumbass.

The city of Goldcliff was breathtaking, and particularly at night, a glimmering pearl that sang a siren’s call through the sea of darkness. Merle watched them approach through the canon’s window, entranced by the unusual harmony of nature’s beauty and modern innovation. A combination he’d never seen done so flawlessly, without one element inevitably sacrificed for the other. It was impressive, and a little inspiring. 

“Now _this_ is a view.” He glanced back toward the wizard whose hand hovered over the break in anticipation, unable to help but crack a small grin and a gentle quip. “Scared, Captain?”

 _“Cautious.”_ Darkvision allowed Merle to see the flash of a smile in return, the amusement that gleamed across the ocean blue eyes. Or at least that’s what he hoped he saw. “Scared is when you know you’re in trouble. Caution is when you’re still attempting to avoid it.” 

“Ah, well, guess I’m always scared then.” 

Merle earned himself a decent laugh from the captain just as he squeezed the handle to brace for impact. “You’re in good hands,” he assured, words that the dwarf’s garbage mind would have twisted if their ship hadn’t immediately struck the ground. They skidded in large bounces across the desert sand, the men giggled around in their harnesses. The break helped ease the momentum, but there was only so much you could do when your descent came at around a hundred thousand feet in the air. 

“Relax, I’ve got this! Just hold on!” 

As though the cleric really had a choice. But Davenport was flowing with confidence, his mouth curled as he grasped a straphanger overhead to ride out the bumps and shakes. Eventually the orb tapered off into a stop, as smooth of a landing as canon launch allowed. 

Both men were jerked back into their seats, a motion that knocked a joyous laugh out of the winded ginger. 

“Aren’t these things incredible!?” Davenport beamed, freckled cheeks flushed and usually tamed curls tossed wildly from the fall. It was how Merle would envision him at sea, carving through the endless waters as he braved towering waves and thunderous storms. 

It’s how Merle _would_ envision him, once he’d manage to settle his hammering heart, which he was fairly certain had popped out of his chest at some point. It had been easy to forget how much he loathed this part of the job in the presence of such good company. 

“Y-yeah it’s uh, it’s something alright,” he wheezed, paled fingers slowly unclenched from the sides of his chair. “Gotta say, I wouldn’t exactly hate a smoother landing, though.” 

His discomfort was obvious enough to earn a wince of sympathy from the still enthused gnome.“Well, it’s unfortunately the best we can do, unless we ever upgrade to airships.” 

Not that Lucretia would ever approve of such expenditures. Not that Davenport would ever _seriously_ ask. But, Gods, what he would give to actually fly something through the air. 

Dreams for another day, perhaps, when other things had been taken care of. Harness unsnapped, Davenport closed the gap between himself and his employee, a hand squeezed fondly on the cleric’s shoulder. “Sorry if I raised your blood pressure there.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I knew you had it under control.” Merle shot a thumbs up as he winded down, comforted by the touch that was all too brief. “Might be nice to wash it down with a drink, though, if that’s allowed on company dime.” 

“It is. And you’re welcome to order whatever you want.” The ship door whooshed open, unveiling them to the outskirts of the desert metropolis. A carriage waited nearby, it’s rider leaning against the side as they waited for the pair.

“That’s our ride. Don't worry. I think you’re going to like where we’re going.”

It was a safe bet, as Merle remained transfixed on everything his eyes captured. The oasis was, by far, the most bustling city he’d ever visited, the boulevards brimming with creatures of every conceivable race and walk of life. 

The only place he’d ever seen to come close was the port city a little north of his clan’s settlement. He’d brought the kids there a handful of times, the reserved Mavis clinging to her father’s side as Mookie wildly squirmed in his grasp, desperate to race across the wooden docks and hassle all the sailors busy at work. 

He would take them here someday, he quietly promised. Once he’d worked up the nerve to write back to Hecuba. 

“Here we are!” The carriage came to a stop that was thankfully far smoother than their first ride. Merle walked out to the front of a massive skyscraper, an illuminated beacon in the cloudless desert sky. He waited patiently as the captain tipped their driver before joining him at his side. 

“The restaurant’s on the top floor. The elevator’s straight ahead.” 

By that point Merle had come to expect that they wouldn’t be dining at some run of the mill pub, a suspicion further confirmed by an elegant lobby and elevator hop that requested their desired level. But even still he couldn’t have predicted what they found at the top of the tower. 

It wasn’t so much the restaurant as it was the natural feature the architecture highlighted, with massive panoramic windows that stretched from ceiling to floor. The view of Goldcliff from the ship had been breathtaking, but the see it all so close and in it’s entirety made Merle briefly forget he could breath. “Dav this is incredible, holy _shit_ man.” 

Appearances, in that brief moment, were inconsequential. Merle didn’t care how enraptured he appeared, because the other man’s gesture warranted it, crush or not. It was incredibly thoughtful. And perhaps, just maybe, it also suggested something about the captain’s intentions that night. 

_He sure as shit didn’t ask us to dinner._

“I’m glad you like it.” Davenport was already following their well-dressed hostess to a low table stationed by the window. As they took their seats Merle realized the view of the city was turning, the restaurant on a slow, perpetuel motor that allowed its’ patrons a complete view of the city landscape.

“I have no illusions that the work we’re asking you to do is dangerous, Merle. And you’ve also been kind enough to agree to help me with a lead on a relic. It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.” 

He quickly ordered a glass of wine before the hostess departed, a cherry elf who politely informed Merle that unfortunately no, they didn’t have any beer or ale on tap. He decisively settled for a glass of whatever Davenport had asked for, already anticipating a night starkly out of his element.

“Of course man. I mean, I’m just happy to have a job. Though uh, if you don’t mind me asking, ain’t that what you’ve got Seekers for? To track down these things? I mean, not that I mind or anything.”

“Ah. No, you’re right,” Davenport agreed after a brief silence, his head propped in his hand in a tired gesture. “Admittedly, I’m being a little cautious right now. But if it’s the one I suspect, then I’ve got good reason to be. And we never suspected Magic Brian would betray us. It makes me apprehensive to send out _more_ Seekers.”

Of course he would have to. He'd attempted once to hunt the Relics on his own, just as Lucretia had attempted to do so by herself before they’d found each other. It was simply too arduous of a task. They needed the Bureau, even if it meant jeopardizing the brave souls who filled their ranks and fought for a safer world. 

Otherwise, they jeopardized everything. But this relic was also a touch more personal. 

“I don’t suspect we’re going to actually find it there, we’ll just be consulting the wealthy traders around the area. I’ll pass off any concrete leads to our Seekers to follow up on, and pray we don’t have another Brian situation...” 

Merle had an urge to say something, an attempt to cheer him up, but the melancholy that clouded the gnome’s expression discouraged him. It felt beyond that of which he had the right to address, a kind of sadness that could drown one in it’s insidious grasp. 

And so he didn’t, his gaze turned back to the view until a waiter came to take their orders. Once again he echoed the captain’s request, confident that the tastes of such a refined man wouldn’t lead him astray. It seemed to lighten Davenport’s mood, a small chuckle passed as he handed off his menu. “You don’t _have_ to get what I’m getting, Merle. Get whatever you want. Price isn’t an issue.”

“Uh, yeah, well I appreciate that,” Merle grinned as he fiddled with his beard, “But uh... I don’t actually know what most of this shit is to be completely honest.”

A confession that clearly amused the redhead far more than their hoity waiter, his laughter dissolving the sadness that had snuck it’s way into their space. “You’re funny, Merle.”

“Most people would pronounce it as unclassy, but I’m glad you think so boss.” 

They used the time as their meals were prepared to discuss the upcoming mission. The plan was to visit the trader cities on the outskirts of the clashing territories, technically safe havens, though the neighboring feuds occasionally stretched into their borders. They would consult the most prolific traders, those that regularly dealt with such priceless artifacts. It wasn’t likely that any of them would have _sold_ the relic. More likely, they would have kept it for themselves until it was inevitably stolen. 

“I’ll be fronting as a wealthy collector,” Davenport explained between sips of his Merlot, “And you’ll, of course, be the translator that I’ve hired.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Merle agreed, a quiet prayer that he wouldn’t fuck it up washed down with his own swig of wine. “So what’s this one called, anyway? The relic?”

The captain’s lips thinned, fingers clenched around the glass stem he finished for reasons other than pleasure. But the Cleric _would_ find out, and clearly sooner than later.

“If it’s the one I suspect, then it’s the Gaia Sash. It gives its wielder complete control over the powers of nature.” The goblet was placed back on the table with a touch more force than intended. “It’s also the first relic I ever came across. The one that lead to my meeting the Madame Director.” 

Merle couldn’t deny that he was curious, both of the mysterious artifact and how it had led the other man into the life they now both lived. If it had come up earlier in their evening he probably wouldn’t have pushed, but two glasses of wine and aching intrigue urged him to nudge just a little more. “So, uh, what happened with that then?”

“It’s not pleasant,” Davenport answered quickly, flatly, turning his attention to his well prepared meal. “I’ve already brought down the mood enough.” 

“I mean, nothing about this is pleasant, Dav. I mean obviously not _this,”_ the dwarf gestured widely, between them and the gorgeous view of the twinkling city, “This is fantastic. But I mean, this relic business. Like, look at what happened to us with that damned gauntlet.” 

His cousins burnt into cinders. An entire village smoldered into glass, the memory of it’s inhabitants consumed by the creature that allowed the Bureau to work in the shadows. The Reclaimers often joked about it, considered it to be the highlight of their incompetence. Because failure was easy to accept from imbeciles who couldn’t do better. 

But none of them would ever say it was _pleasant._

“... I mean, you obviously don’t gotta tell me anything, if you don’t wanna. Or think you shouldn’t. But nothing you can say is gonna gonna make me think less of you.”

Davenport simply nodded, his gaze still averted from the other man’s as he worked through his own mental battle. “Perhaps some day. I appreciate the offer.”

An unspoken request to pull their conversation from where it had ventured, one that Merle was quick and happy to oblige. Eager to fix the mistake his nosiness had caused. He asked the gnome about other things, safer things, distractions that coupled with their drinks to bring lightness back into the space. 

What did he like to do on his days off?  
Where were the best tourist spots in Goldcliff?  
Had he ever seen a shark while sailing out on the ocean?

Had he ever punched one?

“Have I punched a shark?” Davenport repeated, each word enunciated as though it might offer him more clarity. He wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the sheer stupidity that made him smile more. “You’re asking me if I’ve punched a shark. With my own fist, this fist right here, have I _punched a shark?”_

“Well, or with Mage Hand, but yeah!” Merle slurred as he polished off his third glass, “That’s like, the best thing you can do if a shark attacks you. It makes them lock up or something. And then you can swim away.”

“Okay one, that’s entirely false and for your sake I hope you never swim in the ocean. Second, the best thing you can do is _avoid_ sharks in the first place.” “Well I guess a pirate would know the answer to that.” “I wasn’t a PIRATE!”

Patrons glared across their shoulders at the squealing gnome, his cheeks flushed as he recognized his less than modest behavior. He slapped a hand over his mouth, but Merle could see the way his eyes crinkled with delight. _“I wasn’t a pirate,”_ he repeated, a hushed whisper that slipped between his fingers, “I was an _adventurer.”_

“Hate to break it to you captain, but a pirate is just an adventurer with a _boat.”_

Merle twirled a finger through his beard as his drunken mind conjured some lovely imagery to accompany the conversation. Particularly that of a handsome gnome dressed as a proper swashbuckler, with a billowing coat and hair tousled by the salty ocean breeze. Also, he didn’t have a shirt on. It was pretty fantastic.

The Bureau agents thankfully left the restaurant before their behavior ventured into rowdiness, their steps slow and slightly wobbled as they climbed back into the ship. 

Merle slumped comfortably into his seat, the warmth of leather and liquor seeping him down into the cushion. Heavy eyes watched the captain expertly work the automated mechanics that would bring their ship back to the base among the stars.

A pleasant silence filled the gaps in conversation, stirring something within the cleric’s chest he wouldn’t have been able to describe even if sober. A longing that was both familiar and foreign, that swelled his chest and stole his breath for the countless time that evening. A feeling that made him _deeply_ hope that this would happen again, and perhaps under different circumstances. 

But Merle knew better than to expect as much. He would simply take whatever he could get.

“Thanks for tonight, man. I had a real blast.” The dwarf eased his eyes shut, giving up the fight on remaining above the waters of consciousness. He had faith that the captain would bring them home safety. And, hopefully, the landing would jolt him back awake. “Offer’s always there, though. If you ever wanna talk about things...”

Davenport smiled from across the small cabin, far from offended as the other man slipped off. “I’ll think about it.” He appreciated the silence, even as it was filled with gentle snores. It offered him a private moment to decompress, to sort through the thoughts and emotions that the pleasant evening had conjured. 

Many centered on the sleeping man across from him.

The automated flight meant for a much smoother landing, one that simply wasn’t enough to disturbed the sleeping cleric. Nor were the shakes or voice of the gnome, both of which grew more stern and loud as the other man refused to awaken. 

“Merle? Merle, we’re here. _Merle!”_

It was simply no use. The dwarf, no pun intended, was sleeping like a _rock._

Fortunately, it only took a quick levitation spell and a coil of rope to solve this dilemma, as the Merle was transformed into a balloon Davenport was now obliged to dragged back to the dorms. He took it as an opportunity to enjoy a smoke, the rich, vanilla-scented tobacco wafting into the air and slightly onto the cleric hanging overhead. His transportation fee. 

They passed a few returning Seekers on their way, their giggles quickly snuffed as they caught the Director’s pointed glare. The rest of the walk was thankfully short, and Davenport wasted no time to knock on the door. 

His roommate wasted no time to answer, a brawny human that greeted them with an enormous grin. “How’d it go tonight, stu...” Magnus froze, looking between the redhead and the snoring cleric floating above his head. “.. Oh, h… hey there, it’s Davenport right? Looks like you’ve got my roommate there!”

“You’re quite observant, Mr. Burnside.”

The captain passed the rope along to the fighter, dissipating the spell once the dwarf was properly in the other man’s grasp. “He’s perfectly fine, he simply fell asleep.” He’d never met anyone who slept so hard. Or snored as loudly, if the increasing noises were any indication. “Could you please let him know I’ll send him the plans for what we discussed tonight?”

“Of course.” The human tossed the smaller man a cheery thumbs up. “You have a goodnight, sir! Thanks for bringing our buddy home.” 

With an armful of Merle, Magnus was forced to close the door with his foot before easing the hefty man onto the couch still riddled with crumbs. The conversation had pulled their other roommate out from the bathroom, the elf sporting an avocado mud mask and a set of bugbear pajamas. “The fuck happened?” He demanded, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. 

“Uh, Davenport just brought him over.” Magnus shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I think he fell asleep on the ride back?”

Taako frowned in the most unimpressed manner Magnus had ever seen, gesturing for the fighter to wait a moment as he left to spit out his minty mouthful. He then marched back into the living room until he reached the couch, and without a sliver of hesitation _yelled_ in the sleeping dwarf’s face. “You old DUMB FUCK! How do you plan on getting laid if you FALL ASLEEP!?”

“Why the hell are you SCREAMING!?” Merle snapped into consciousness, his anger briefly diffused as he assessed his location. “Wait, weren’t we on the ship… ? How’d I get here?”

“How’d you get here? By wasting my hard work, that’s how! I, Taako, spent forty five minutes on _your_ hair, and you don’t even have the decency to get _fucked.”_ The wizard seethed, his golden eyes narrowed into unamused slits. “You better have at least kissed him.”

“Yeah! Did you? I mean, _please_ don’t give us any details. But like, how’d everything go?! Did you have a good time?”

“I had a _great_ time, until some asshole _screamed_ in my face.” Merle palmed the weary eyes still heavy with sleep and wine, knowing he would need to appease his nosy teammates if he wanted any sleep. “It… it went great though. I mean nothing happened. I dunno, I think I might have gotten my hopes up on what he wanted. But it was still a fun evening.” 

“Well that’s what matters, Merle,” Magnus assured gently, “We’re just glad you had a good time--” 

An elven hand suddenly slapped over the fighter’s mouth, tossing his words of encouragement to the voidfish’s tank. 

“Yeah nah, fuck that, that’s quitter talk. Now, okay, maybe D-man doesn’t kiss on the first date. That’s fine, we can work with that. That just means you gotta go in a little stronger--”

“My boys, the only place I’m going right now is _to bed.”_

Merle pushed off the couch and past his squabbling roommates, his fingers wiggling in a _ta-ta_ motion as he pushed the door shut. With no amount of grace he flopped face first onto the mattress, his head still buzzing over his evening with the handsome captain. 

The faint smell of tobacco and vanilla lingering in his nose, lulling him back to a welcomed, peaceful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha wow, this took a lot longer than I was expecting, and still isn't what I was hoping it would be (I wanted to get a flash back in, which I did, but also move things a long which.... didn't happen as much as it could have). 
> 
> 2-27-2018 Update: There's some things I want to rework in this fic, some personal gripes, so I'm considering this on hiatus until I figure those things out. In the meantime I'm still open to writing other Davenchurch content.

The air was thick and hot within the vessel’s belly, a mugginess that lingered with the stench of rotten wood. Bordering on putrid, the floors were caked in sludge that stuck to the captain’s boots as he moved past fresh bodies and his scavenging crew, his nose scrunched as wet squelches carried him to their bound and struggling captive.  


A frantic, doe-eyed human that was _still_ struggling against the thick knots that held his wrists together, tied expertly by the Dragonborn guard towering over him.  


Davenport flashed _her_ a warm smile, appreciative of the quick work his crew had made of commandeering the pirate’s ship. But that smile faded immediately as storm gray eyes settled on the trembling youth disintegrating into a mess of snot and tears. The young man only had an inch or so on the gnome in this position, his body curled as he fought and failed to contain his sobs.  


_Pathetic._ Davenport clicked his tongue at the display, a dirtied boot wiped across the pirate’s thigh. “Your ship is disgusting.” Each word curled slowly around his tongue, as though he thought the boy so dense that he might miss it if he spoke too fast. “Your captain clearly has _no pride,_ but I suppose there’s not much that can be done about that now.”  


That sparked something, the flare of defiance he’d been betting on, a brief glimpse of truth that quickly melted as the captive remembered where he was. _“Please.”_ His voice was coarse and exhausted, the voice of a man on the verge of giving up but not quite there yet. “Please don’t kill me.”  


His desperation was rewarded with perhaps the best laugh Davenport had enjoyed all day, a highly tickled sound echoed by his crew at work.  


“Oh, well, that’s a bit of a tall ask _unfortunately._ You see, my crew and I were specifically hunting you. Apparently you’ve caused quite a lot of trouble around Lantan. Killing good people, stealing everything your nasty little hands can carry. There’s more than one town that’ll pay well for at least one of your heads.”  


“Then take one of theirs, you’ve already killed them please, _please!”_ The boy’s eyes gawked wide with urgency, his body reeling forward so fast Davenport reached for his blade before he remembered the captive’s hands. “Please sir, I’m not like them. Oh gods _I swear_ I’m more useful to you alive! Whatever they’re paying you is _nothing_ compared to what we were hunting. I can make it worth your while, just listen.”  


It was from top to bottom a standard plea bargain, and yet something about it sparked curiosity across the cabin. The ragtag collection of mercenaries all turned to their captain, the gnome loosening his stance just a hair as he continued studying the boy with contempt and distrust. “Is that so? And what in Faerun’s name could you be hunting that’s so conveniently valuable?”  


“It’s _true!_ It’s true, it’s true, I _swear_ it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s an artifact that can control the seas, fuck it controls nature itself. It can make tsunamis that can swallow islands whole. Winds like a thousand dragon’s wings. All of that at your fingertips. Just _imagine_ what your crew could be with that kind of power. The ocean would be _yours._ I can help you _find_ it.”  


The Wave Crasher Crew glanced between one another, all struggling with how far they should lean into their excitement over such a prospective treasure. And as always, they sought their captain for guidance, the gnome’s rigid frown revealing little of his own dance with temptation.  


But it was there, and it sung, rich and warm like a siren pulling them into the cliffs. He couldn't explain why this supposed treasure intrigued him so much. But he supposed he didn't need to. _The ocean would be yours._  


_“... Gordon?”_ Dav turned his gaze past the boy’s shoulder, settling on a Halfling cleric that held a few years on their prisoner at best. The request was understood without needing to be asked, the youth's hands extended as they glowed and waved over the sniffling pirate’s head, summoning a warm, ethereal pool of light around the three of them. Entrapping them in Zone of Truth.  


“I hope you can respect that I can’t go off a pirate’s word alone. No matter how innocent he seems.” The captain grinned keenly, noting the drop in the prisoner’s growing relief. Gods, he loved this spell. “Now, you’re going to tell me the truth. I mean, obviously, that’s how this works. But just so you're prepared. Now, is there really such an artifact?”  


“Yes.” The boy offered zero hesitance. “That’s why we were here, we were collecting rations for the trip--”  


“Well, you were sinking ships and stealing their rations,” Davenport corrected, “But, you know, apples and oranges. Now _where_ was that voyage going to take you, exactly?”  


Now the signs were showing, the little quirks of struggle that danced across the pirate’s face. The twitching of lips and the soft, mumbled gasps of air. But, as prior displays had made obvious, their prisoner was not _strong,_ the words ripped from his mouth as fast as his mind could process them. “West of the Moonshae Isles. A sea witch stole it from us, from our captain. She used it to cause a storm that took us all the way out here. She creates them whenever a ship approaches.”  


“Well fortunately for us, she won’t see _us_ coming. We're actually good at this." Davenport shrugged, hands stuffed in the pockets of his thick, red coat, overtly bored of the current conversation. With a less than considerate smile he scrolled his gaze past his guard, the nervous cleric, and the rest of his crew. “Now, does anyone want to scrub away this filth or shall I do the honors?”  


“Are you _joking?!”_  


The pirate lunged, or at least attempted to, stopped in his tracks by sharp claws grasping his hair. Enough to halt his movement, though not his increasingly panicked mouth. “Are you _stupid_ or something?! I know where she is, I’ve seen her face, let me _help you._ Please, I never wanted to be part of this life, I’m just a deckhand, just give me a chance to join your crew--”  


A sharp swipe cut through the air, the captain’s blade unsheathed and swiftly pressed to the pirate’s throat without a thought. The boy swallowed hard, a noise heard across the suddenly silent hold. “I don’t accept help from pirates.” Whatever amusement that lingered in the gnome’s blue eyes suddenly drained, his gaze narrowed with contempt and impatience for the babbling coward. “I don’t accept help from _liars._ From _cowards."_  


Davenport saw it then. The blossoming recognition, the youth’s eyes widening, unable to work his mouth to fight the accusation.  


“Gods, did you really think that trick would work on me? That half-baked magic trick? Do you even know who I am?” _I’m Captain Davenport, and you’re a coward._ The gnome leaned closer, drinking in the terror splayed across both the shoddy illusion and the pirate captain’s scarred, _true_ face underneath. He probably stole that face from one of his crew. Pathetic. “But hey, thanks for telling us about your artifact.”  


“Wait, please, we can still work something out--”  


The pirate’s pleas were silenced by a wet, meaty whack of one captain’s blade to another’s throat. Gurgles choked through trembling lips quickly soaked with blood spilling onto the floor, followed by the body that landed with a heavy _thump._ Davenport frowned, his sword wiped clean on the corpse’s back before he finally turned to his crew.  


“We’ll collect his bounty, but it sounds to me like there’s even greater treasure to be found. Think you’re all up for an island tour?”  


His answer came as a wave of enthusiastic cheers, all save for the Halfling whose zone of truth dissipated with the fall of his interrogate. The youth lingered as the others continued rummaging the pirate ship’s supplies, bouncing between large feet until finally working the nerve to approach their captain. “Uh, sir? Can I... ask you something...?”  


Davenport turned on his heel, having just assigned his guard the honor of loading up the captain’s cadaver onto their ship. His expression immediately warmed, an air of warm patience reserved for school teachers and mercenaries with kind-hearted pupils.  


“Of course Gordon, what can I help you with?”  


“You knew he was using illusion magic, that he wasn’t just some kid...” The halfling was clearly impressed, and perhaps a little dejected for not recognizing the sleazy bastard's trickery. “But… what if he really had been a kid? Would you have...?”  


“Killed him?”  


Davenport watched the cleric’s fussing hands grow still as embarrassment rushed across the young face, and he made a great effort to soften his own. “Not likely, no, but we wouldn’t brought him with us.”  


Words the Halfling seemed to accept only begrudgingly, conflict burning behind their eyes. A sigh fell from the captain’s lips as he squeezed a hand on the young cleric's arm, feeling the tension there.  


“Compassion will help you keep your soul out here, but it’s not always going to help you keep your life. Even the youngest, most innocent-faced people can hurt you if you give them the chance, Gordon. Some sweet faced kid could slit our throats in our sleep. You can be kind sometimes, but sometimes you just have to do what’s right for your crew. Do you understand?”  


The Halfling knew it was a rhetorical question. Understanding was not an option. And the captain _was_ right. “Yeah, I get it, thank you sir.” “Come on, help us get all this on the ship. Something tells me this is gonna be our biggest hunt yet.”  
One last supportive squeeze lingered on the Halfling’s arm before captain and cleric joined the rest of their crew, preparing themselves for the long, treacherous journey ahead.  


\---  


“...And Magnus is just gonna swipe some of Taako’s clothes I guess? God, I hope not the short shorts.”  


It was not the mentioning of short shorts that yanked the gnome from his thoughts, but the sudden jerk of the rental carriage. He was thrown back just in time for the tail end of what had probably been a very one-sided conversation with his employee. _Oops._ Davenport squinted, attempting to decipher what Merle had been talking about before revealing his inattentiveness. Something about his roommate, the human fighter he’d briefly met when he’d delivered the dwarf home like some Fantasy Edible Arrangement.  


“Oh, uh, yeah...?”  


It was useless, the gnome’s mind still clearly elsewhere as he caught the dwarf’s gaze, an embarrassed laugh spilling from his lips as his divination came up short. “Yeah no, sorry, I really didn’t catch any of that. My mind is on all of… this. You know. Why does Magnus need Taako’s clothes...?”  


Merle hardly seemed to mind repeating himself, just happy to now have his captain’s full attention. “The Summer Solstice, man! It’s next week. Magnus is going as our resident flip wizard. And Taako’s goin’ as some judge, or whatever, I don’t know I think he just likes being special. And I’m still figuring out what I wanna be.”  


Nothing had happened since Goldcliff that gave the cleric an inclination that his feelings were returned, but he felt as though the passing weeks had at least helped carve at the walls forged between them, easing both men into an air of familiar comfort. Just enough that Davenport didn’t seem to mind small hiccups in his professionalism, when Merle caught him off guard or made him laugh.  


And that alone warmed the old dwarf’s heart and fueled his courage, urging him to push the invisible wall just a _little_ now and then. He did so now, daring to lean a little closer across the cushioned seat, lips tugged in a curious smile.  
“And what's everyone’s favorite captain going to be this year?”  


Davenport scoffed, a leather pouch embroidered with waves and shooting stars pulled from within his coat, from which he plucked a fanciful black cigarette. “A Captain,” he delivered flatly, though Merle easily heard the sliver of humor that cut through his tone. Another cigarette was offered to the cleric, who declined as usual, but still appreciated the offer. “Honestly, I don’t anticipate on going to the festival. So I hardly see reason to dress up.”  


And if this mission proved successful, he’d have far more pressing things on his agenda than a carnival. But the cleric clearly had other ideas, a hand clutched dramatically around the prayer beads hanging from his neck.  


“What do you _mean_ you ain’t going? You’re one of our Directors. You’re half the reason the festival is even happening!”  


And the lack of the gnome’s presence would certainly problematize Merle’s hopes for the upcoming evening. An opportunity to just enjoy the captain’s presence without the weight of work hanging between them. To make him smile and laugh so hard he’d tried to hide it (less his employees see him having _fun_ ). Maybe win him a prize, maybe make out behind the deep-fried oreo stand. You know, festival things.  


“...And as a cleric, it’s my sworn duty to warn you against snubbing tradition. The Solstice ain’t just corn dogs and dunk tanks. What if some spirits try to snatch your soul?”  


“I’ll shoot them.” His index finger pointed up, mimicking the telltale motion as he mouthed the sound effects, pulling a small chuckle from the older dwarf. “You can’t _shoot_ ghosts! Come on man, I’m just looking out for you!”  


Davenport stifled his own laugh as he reached across the gap between them, gently patting the top of Merle’s hand that rested close. A brief, seemingly innocent gesture that still licked electricity all the way up the dwarf’s arm. “Well, then I’ll just have my brave, competent cleric banish them away for me.”  


Oh gods help him, he couldn’t get tongue tied now, he had to be a translator. He had to like, _talk and shit._ Merle nodded through a clearly flustered laugh that only worsened his embarrassment, now hyper conscious of what the gnome might decipher. What he might already know. “Of course boss,” he grinned, his flushed face turned to the carriage window, “I’ll send those ghosts straight to hell for you.”  


Once he remembered how to do that spell.  


Aged fingers tightened around the equally aged prayer book that remained constant at Merle’s side. He found comfort in the smooth, familiar leather, the stitching that spelled _Extreme Teen Bible_ across the cover. His sacred text. Seconds ticked by as he scrounged for his voice, a moment he was certain was only tense for him. “... But, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy a little bit of the festivities, you know? It’ll show _company pride._ Help boost morale.”  


“I’d say a company-funded carnival is _fairly_ morale boosting.”  


But Merle was clearly chipping at his employer’s defenses, the gnome’s lips tugged around his cigarette. A waft of smoke drifted through the window, though Merle practically drank in what lingered in the carriage.  
“...Perhaps.” Davenport finally agreed, sharing a glance with his employee as the older man glanced over his shoulder. “Since you’re so concerned about my soul, and all that. Perhaps I’ll be something... _nautical.”_  


“Really? That’s what I was thinking too!”  


No it wasn’t, but Merle was immediately and entirely set on the idea, already conjuring ideas to explore once their mission was complete. Maybe something based off that moving scroll he use to show the kids. Something about a mermaid? He’d solidify it later.  


Because they were close now, their rented carriage at the foot of the jagged mountains that stretched endlessly across the land, with peaks piercing the skies like a massive beast’s gaping mouth, it’s sharp teeth reaching to swallow up the stars. The path was becoming narrow and messy, with slushy mud and fallen branches that immediately slowed the drag of wheels by the massive Clydesdales. Moving even closer they saw the trees from which the branches had been torn, wind-worn and snapped at the trunks, with wooden shards reaching for the gray clouds overhead. Carnage that tightened Davenport’s chest at the familiarity.  


Hopefully the carriage driver was as good as her price suggested. The Dwarven communities were too deep in the mountains to find with a ship, and flying a massive, _canon-like_ vessel over a warzone was an easy way to raise the Bureau’s death count.  


“Guess your lead was onto something,” Merle mumbled, taking in the ruined landscape from his own window, “Do you really think it’s still here? The Gaia Sash?”  


“Gods, I hope so.” The captain sucked a deep breath through his teeth, sharp and tense and far less soothing than he needed it to be. But he would not relax until it was found, secured, and destroyed by his hands. Like he should have destroyed it years ago. “We’ll be at the first settlement in an hour, so, let’s review the plan...”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr @ allnuttin


End file.
